Brutal
by nhsweetcherry
Summary: A short, relatively plotless adventure. **Update - "Chapter 2" is actually an alternate version from the TOS perspective
1. Chapter 1

_Anyone in the mood for shameless whump? Apparently I am! I tried to write a happy story, but ended up writing this one instead._

 _I do not own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story._

John and Gordon strode briskly down the New York City sidewalk, expertly weaving their way through the thick crowds.

"Remind me why we didn't take a taxi?" Gordon asked, slurping up the last of his milkshake and tossing the cup into a nearby garbage can.

"Because sometimes I like having lots of people around," John said. "For a little while, anyway. It makes me appreciate the solitude more when I go back up to Five." He walked with his head held high, admiring the soaring buildings and taking in the restless energy of the crowds and the teeming traffic.

And then he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and would have fallen on his face if it weren't for Gordon's quick reflexes.

Gordon hauled him back upright, laughing. "Gravity getting to you already?"

John rolled his eyes. He hated the leaden feeling that always came over him after a little while in Earth's atmosphere, slowing him down and dulling his reflexes. "Always does. Maybe we should grab a taxi after all – it's almost all the way around the block to the Pizzeria."

"I've got a better idea," Gordon told him. He gestured with his thumb to an alleyway that cut between two buildings. "Shortcut." He started down the narrow passageway.

John followed him hesitantly, shivering slightly as the buildings seemed to close in overhead, shutting out the sunshine and plunging the alley into a kind of perpetual twilight. He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head – he didn't need them any more. "You sure it's safe?"

Gordon shrugged. "It's the middle of the day, John. Sure it's safe! And this should dump us out right next to the Pizzeria. It'll save us a few minutes of walking."

All five Tracy brothers were visiting the city on a rare day off from International Rescue. They had spent the morning wandering through some of their favorite shops and museums. When it had come time for lunch, though, there had been a huge debate – Scott, Virgil and Alan were convinced that a tiny hole-in-the-wall pizza shop was the only possible choice, while John and Gordon insisted that they go to their favorite restaurant, an old-fashioned burger joint. In the end, they had simply split up and agreed to meet again after lunch.

"I hope they're done eating," Gordon said. "They made me go with them last time, and it takes _forever_ before you get your pizza."

"That's because they make every order from scratch," John replied absently, craning his neck to look behind them – it sure sounded like there were a lot more than two sets of footsteps echoing off the dirty brick walls.

Gordon strode confidently down the dark, narrow alley, calmly sidestepping old trash, garbage cans, abandoned tires, and all manner of nameless junk.

John trailed in his wake, feeling more and more nervous the farther they walked. He rubbed his sweating palms on his pants and sternly told himself, _Stop it! There's absolutely nothing to be worried about!_

But then suddenly there _was_ something to be worried about. He and Gordon skidded to a halt, startled, as two men stepped out from behind a dumpster a little ways ahead of them. The hair on the back of John's neck prickled, and he glanced over his shoulder to see that three more men had appeared behind them.

One of the men in front of them stepped forward, grinning menacingly. "Hello, boys. What brings you two off the beaten path this fine day?"

Adrenaline resolved John's nerves into crisp focus, sharpening his gaze and straightening his lean frame. He stepped up to Gordon's side. "Just passing through," he said. "Pardon us."

This time he was the one to walk boldly forward, Gordon sticking close to his heels.

The men stood their ground, though.

"'Pardon us,' he says," the leader sneered. "Well, sorry, but I ain't in a pardoning kinda mood! Take 'em, boys!" He lunged forward.

Suddenly grateful for the long, sweaty self-defense training sessions Kayo had forced upon all the brothers, John neatly dodged the fist heading for his face and kicked the man behind the knee, sending him sprawling.

Another man wrapped his arms around him from behind; John stomped down on the man's foot and sent him stumbling away with a yelp.

John found himself stumbling, too, though, the rush of adrenaline not quite enough to overcome the drag of gravity that was trying to press him down into the ground. Hands seized his arms, and he struggled against them, but then there was a flurry of motion, and John's knees cracked hard against the pavement, and he was only saved from pitching forward by the strength of the hand twisting his arm painfully behind his back. He tried to jerk free, but he was effectively pinned in place.

Gordon was still fighting. Light on his feet, he looked fresh and bright-eyed, while the big men stumbling around him sported evidence of having been on the receiving end of some hard blows. John knew the power in his little brother's arms and shoulders – he'd held the punching bag for Gordon a few times – and he winced involuntarily as Gordon's fist flashed forward again, sending one man stumbling backward, clutching his jaw.

But the battle was four against one, and even the scrappy, second-youngest Tracy could only hold out for so long against those odds. The men worked together to back Gordon against a wall, and then it was only a matter of time before they broke through his defenses and got a tight grip on his arms. They forced him down onto his knees opposite John.

Their eyes met, and Gordon frowned apologetically, as if to say he was sorry for suggesting they go down the alley.

John rolled his eyes and shrugged slightly, hoping that Gordon would get the message – _It's not your fault._

The men went through their pockets, taking their wallets, cell phones, watches and sunglasses.

Gordon protested loudly, until one of the men smacked him across the mouth, splitting his lip.

"Hey!" John snapped. "Leave him alone!"

The leader glanced up from leafing through the money in their wallets. He grinned and shoved the wallets in his pocket, slowly walking over to stand beside Gordon. "I would…really, I would, but he messed up my face, see?" He pointed to a dark smudge of color beneath his eye. "I gotta pay him back a little." He turned to face Gordon and drew back his fist, aiming a ferocious blow straight at Gordon's face.

Gordon knew to roll with the punch, but it still had enough force to send his head snapping back and to split the skin over his cheekbone.

"No!" John raged, struggling against the grip on his arm, but unable to get any leverage. "Stop that!"

But the man just laughed cruelly and gestured for the guys holding Gordon to lift him to his feet.

And for a minute, he used Gordon as his own personal punching bag, ignoring John's frantic shouts for him to stop as he pounded Gordon's ribs with blow after blow.

By the time the leader paused, the men behind Gordon were supporting most of his weight; Gordon's knees were wobbly, he was gasping painfully for breath, and his eyes were scrunched nearly shut.

The men holding him let him go, and he collapsed slowly down onto the filthy pavement, curling around himself with a groan and wrapping his arms around his ribs.

"Gordon!" John exclaimed hoarsely, straining toward his brother. He looked up at the leader and pushed a few more words past his raw throat. "You are going to _pay_ for this," he growled.

"Oh, yeah? And who's gonna make me pay? _You_?" The man laughed harshly and swung his fist almost casually toward John's face.

The blow caught John over the eye and sent him reeling back against the man behind him. He straightened back up slowly, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. Glancing up, he met the man's eyes again. "No, not me. _Them_." He nodded to the alleyway behind the men.

They whipped around – and jerked backward in surprise as they saw two tall, muscular figures striding purposefully toward them, and a third, smaller person slipping along in the shadows some distance back.

Scott had pulled himself up to his full height and looked ready to breathe fire in his rage, his lean frame taut with a fierce energy and his blue eyes practically shooting sparks.

Virgil looked like a grizzly bear about to charge, his broad shoulders hunched forward slightly and his big hands clenched into fists, making the muscles in his forearms stand out like ropes.

Alan kept well back, his eyes taking in the scene and his phone pressed to his ear as he carried on a low conversation with someone – presumably the police.

Scott stopped ten feet away, Virgil at his shoulder. "Let my brothers go – _now_ ," he said quietly.

John shivered. Scott speaking softly was almost more ominous than if he had shouted.

The leader sneered. "Sure, you can have 'em…we were just about done playing with them, anyway." He grabbed John by the collar and jerked him to his feet. "Here!" He shoved John, sending him stumbling forward.

Scott stepped forward and caught John, grunting as he ended up supporting most of John's weight for a moment.

The men took advantage of the distraction to try to rush Scott and Virgil, doubtless planning to add to their wallet collection.

Things didn't go as well for them the second time, though. Virgil held them off until Scott had his hands free, and then the combination of Scott's technique and Virgil's brute force had the men reeling back with just a few blows – right into the arms of the police officers who Alan had cleverly directed to the other end of the alley.

Their youngest brother had clearly been busy on the phone, as suddenly there were paramedics on the scene too, a couple bending over Gordon while another checked on John.

"I'm fine," John snapped, trying to look around the woman inspecting the bruising around his eye. "Gordon…?"

Alan was crouched by Gordon's side, watching the paramedics work, his expressive face clouded with worry.

Gordon opened one eye and wearily raised his hand, giving his brothers a thumbs-up. "I'm good," he muttered. Then he grimaced and gently rubbed his ribs.

Alan grinned. "He's good," he repeated. He bent down and whispered something in Gordon's ear.

Gordon laughed, then groaned.

John shook his head and turned back to Scott and Virgil.

Scott still looked tense, but as John met his eyes, he smirked. "Honestly, can't we leave you two alone for an hour without you getting into trouble?"

"Next time maybe you should just get pizza with us," Virgil added, crossing his arms over his chest.

"My hamburger was delicious, thank you very much," John retorted.

Alan called, "Hey, they want to take Gordon to the hospital to make sure none of his ribs are broken. Can I ride in the ambulance with him?"

"Nah, let's send John," Scott said. "He should be under observation too."

"I'm fine," John growled. Then he relented. "But I wouldn't mind riding with Gordon."

Casting the handcuffed criminals one last dark glare, he followed as the paramedics pushed Gordon on a gurney to the end of the alley and loaded him on an ambulance.

John sat near Gordon's head on the ride, and he sighed as he looked down at his younger brother's bruised face. "Sorry I couldn't protect you, Gords," he sighed.

Gordon's rich brown eyes slowly blinked open. He smiled, then winced as the motion pulled at his split lip. "Not your fault," he said. "It was my idea to go down the alley."

"Well, it wasn't your fault either," John said.

"Nah, I know that." Gordon's eyes closed again. "Some people are just nasty."

John sighed. "Brutal is more like it."

For all the horrors in their job, they didn't often see brutality. Fear, yes. Anger, definitely. Selfishness, fairly often.

But sheer cruelty? It was jarring, and John was intensely grateful that they didn't come across people like that very often.

"Good thing we've got superheroes for brothers, huh, Johnny?" Gordon murmured sleepily.

"Yeah, good thing, Kiddo," John said. "A very good thing."

Pizza actually sounded pretty good.


	2. Chapter 2

_I wrote this quite a while ago because for some reason I wasn't totally satisfied with the first version of "Brutal." I see the first one as being TAG, and the second as being TOS. A few of you have read this already. A bit more violent than the first version (and it starts out almost identical to the first version; the changes start a little ways in)._

John and Gordon strode briskly down the New York City sidewalk, expertly weaving their way through the thick crowds.

"Remind me why we didn't take a taxi?" Gordon asked, slurping up the last of his milkshake and tossing the cup into a nearby garbage can.

"Because sometimes I like having lots of people around," John said. "For a little while, anyway. It makes me appreciate the solitude more when I go back up to Five." He walked with his head held high, admiring the soaring buildings and taking in the restless energy of the crowds and the teeming traffic.

And then he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and would have fallen on his face if it weren't for Gordon's quick reflexes.

Gordon hauled him back upright, laughing. "Been up there too long, huh? Seems like you've forgotten how to walk!"

John rolled his eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, Gordon's words were somewhat true. John used a treadmill on Five, but it wasn't the same as actually walking around on the ground, and he had a tendency toward clumsiness when he was back on earth. "Maybe we should grab a taxi after all – it's almost all the way around the block to the Pizzeria."

"I've got a better idea," Gordon told him. He gestured with his thumb to an alleyway that cut between two buildings. "Shortcut." He started down the narrow passageway.

John followed him hesitantly, shivering slightly as the buildings seemed to close in overhead, shutting out the sunshine and plunging the alley into a kind of perpetual twilight. He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head – he didn't need them any more. "You sure it's safe?"

Gordon shrugged. "It's the middle of the day, John. Sure it's safe! And this should dump us out right next to the Pizzeria. It'll save us a few minutes of walking."

All five Tracy brothers were visiting the city on a rare day off from International Rescue. They had spent the morning wandering through some of their favorite shops and museums. When it had come time for lunch, though, there had been a huge debate – Scott, Virgil and Alan were convinced that a tiny hole-in-the-wall pizza shop was the only possible choice, while John and Gordon insisted that they go to their favorite restaurant, an old-fashioned burger joint. In the end, they had simply split up and agreed to meet again after lunch.

"I hope they're done eating," Gordon said. "They made me go with them last time, and it takes _forever_ before you get your pizza."

"That's because they make every order from scratch," John replied absently, craning his neck to look behind them – it sure sounded like there were a lot more than two sets of footsteps echoing off the dirty brick walls.

Gordon strode confidently down the dark, narrow alley, calmly sidestepping old trash, garbage cans, abandoned tires, and all manner of nameless junk.

John trailed in his wake, feeling more and more nervous the farther they walked. He rubbed his sweating palms on his pants and sternly told himself, _Stop it! There's absolutely nothing to be worried about!_

But then suddenly there _was_ something to be worried about. He and Gordon skidded to a halt, startled, as two men stepped out from behind a dumpster a little ways ahead of them. The hair on the back of John's neck prickled, and he glanced over his shoulder to see that three more men had appeared behind them.

One of the men in front of them stepped forward, grinning menacingly. "Hello, boys. What brings you two off the beaten path this fine day?"

Adrenaline resolved John's nerves into crisp focus, sharpening his gaze and straightening his lean frame. He stepped up to Gordon's side. "Just passing through," he said. "Pardon us."

This time he was the one to walk boldly forward, Gordon sticking close to his heels.

The men stood their ground, though.

"'Pardon us,' he says," the leader sneered. "Well, sorry, but I ain't in a pardoning kinda mood! Take 'em, boys!" He lunged forward.

Suddenly grateful for the long, sweaty self-defense training sessions Scott had forced upon all the brothers, John neatly dodged the fist heading for his face and kicked the man behind the knee, sending him sprawling.

Another man wrapped his arms around him from behind; John stomped down on the man's foot and sent him stumbling away with a yelp.

John found himself stumbling, too. He was in shape, and he had some training, but fighting was _really_ not his forte. Hands seized his arms, and he struggled against them, but then there was a flurry of motion that ended with John's knees cracking hard against the pavement. He was only saved from pitching forward by the strength of the person twisting his arm painfully behind his back. He tried to jerk free, but he was effectively pinned in place.

He looked around wildly for Gordon, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw his younger brother facing off against the other four men. Gordon's face had gone hard and cold in a way that John had only seen once or twice before – and he remembered recalling that he had hoped he would never see Gordon wearing that expression again. It went back to Gordon's WASP training, John knew – and that was about _all_ that he knew. Gordon rarely spoke of his time in the military.

Gordon was quick and light on his feet. The big men he was fighting looked like clumsy oxen, stumbling around him as they tried to land a blow. As John watched, Gordon easily dodged a huge swinging fist and stepped into the opening to down his opponent with a sharp, fierce uppercut.

John knew the power in his little brother's arms and shoulders – he'd held the punching bag for Gordon a few times – and he winced involuntarily as another man lunged forward, only for Gordon's fist to crack against his jaw, sending him staggering back against the brick wall.

The other two men eyed Gordon, circling him warily. Gordon, for his part, kept his stance loose and relaxed, ready to move in any direction.

Both men charged Gordon at once, one grabbing Gordon from behind while the other swung back his arm in preparation for a mighty punch.

A strangled cry rose in John's throat, and the man holding him laughed.

But then, Gordon kicked up with both his legs at once, and his feet caught the charging man full in the gut. Both of his antagonists lurched backward, one winded and the other caught off guard by suddenly having all of Gordon's weight shoved back against him. The man holding Gordon crashed against the brick wall and let go of him.

Gordon turned and strode toward John and his captor – but then he suddenly froze, his eyes fixed on something just behind John, his face going pale.

John started to turn his head, and then he found himself frozen too, as something cold and smooth slid under his jaw line and lightly rested against his jugular, poking ever so slightly into his skin.

"Okay, kid, time to give it up," the man snarled.

Gordon slowly raised his hands, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "Fine," he said quietly. "Just don't hurt my brother."

The leader lurched toward him, his face beet red and his nose sluggishly dribbling blood. "Oh, I don't think it's him you gotta worry about, kid!" he growled. He grabbed Gordon by the collar and slammed his fist into Gordon's stomach.

Gordon nearly crumpled, but the man jerked him back upright and followed up with a punch to the face that split the skin on Gordon's cheekbone.

And then the other three men crowded in, pounding at Gordon from all sides with vengeful fists.

John screamed and raged, fighting against the man holding him down, but he couldn't get any leverage to pull free. "No!" he shouted. "Gordon, fight back, _fight back_!" There was a sudden sickening _pop_ in his shoulder as he pulled too hard, and the lightning bolt of pain made things go fuzzy for a second. By the time John could focus his eyes again, Gordon was curled up on the ground, his arms wrapped protectively around his head and his knees drawn up to his chest, and the men were kicking him.

"No," John choked out, still straining forward even as pain blazed through his shoulder. "Stop it, please stop it – you're going to kill him!" He flinched as the leader's toe connected _hard_ with Gordon's lower back, wrenching an involuntary cry of pain from his little brother. "Stop it!" John yelled one more time. Then, not knowing what else to do, he tipped back his head and screamed at the top of his voice, "Scott! _Help_!"

The man behind him chuckled. "Ain't nobody gonna help you," he muttered, sliding the knife blade lightly along John's collarbone.

Just then, though, the leader took a few steps back away from Gordon, breathing hard. He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, I think someone's coming! Quick, grab their wallets and let's get outta here!"

The man holding John shoved him roughly forward; unable to catch himself, John sprawled onto the dirty pavement next to Gordon.

He dragged himself closer to his brother, hardly even noticing the hands hastily pulling his wallet from his pocket.

His second-youngest brother was pale, limp, and very, very still. John reached forward with his good hand, wrapping his fingers around Gordon's wrist and fighting back a stirring of nausea in the pit of his stomach. He breathed a little easier as he felt the flutter of Gordon's pulse beneath his fingertips.

Shouts sounded from down the alley, and John gave a shudder of relief. "Scott, Virg, and Alan are here," he whispered to Gordon, the words rasping in his raw throat. "It's gonna be okay now." He pushed himself up into a sitting position, hunched protectively over Gordon.

The muggers scurried down the alleyway in one direction, while from the other side came the sharp patter of shoes striking the pavement fast and hard.

Scott arrived first, his brilliant blue eyes practically shooting sparks as he glanced after the fleeing criminals. But then he dropped down at John's side, and his expression changed instantly to deep concern. "What happened?" he demanded, giving John a quick once over and zeroing in on the front of his shirt.

John glanced down to see what Scott was looking at and was startled to discover that a considerable amount of blood had seeped from a long, thin cut across his collarbone, soaking into his shirt. He hadn't even felt it. "It's nothing," he said. "Help Gordon – he could be badly hurt."

Virgil and Alan slid in next to Gordon at that moment. Virgil took one look at Gordon and started to lift his watch to his mouth, but then he shook his head in frustration – there was no one on Five to patch his communicator through to the local rescue service. He turned to Alan and snapped, "Go get an ambulance."

Alan nodded and took back off toward the main street at a sprint.

Virgil bent over Gordon. "What happened?" he asked sharply.

"Just a mugging," John replied bitterly, watching Virgil's nimble fingers as he examined Gordon. "We fought back, and Gordon was winning – until they threatened me with a knife. After that, he just stood there and let them beat him up!" He tensed up as the frustration washed over him again, then hissed in pain and reached for his shoulder.

Scott caught the movement and carefully inspected the injured joint. "Virg, he's got a dislocated shoulder."

"I told you, I'm _fine_ ," John snapped. "Gordon's more important right now – they had him down on the ground and they were kicking him!"

A softly muttered "Ouch" drew all their eyes back to Gordon.

Their redheaded brother slowly pried his eyes open – although the left one wouldn't open all the way – and blinked up at them. "Ouch," he said again. "John, why'd you let me take that shortcut?" His words were sluggish, and he couldn't hide his pain behind the levity.

John sighed. He knew Gordon expected a sarcastic response, but he simply didn't have the energy to make light of the situation. "Sorry, Gords," he said softly.

Gordon frowned at him. "Did they hurt you?" His eyes fastened on the blood stain on the front of John's shirt, and his face darkened. "I'm gonna kill them," he muttered, trying to push himself up. He fell back with a cough and a groan, though, his eyes fluttering shut again.

Virgil growled, "Stay put, you idiot! You might have broken ribs."

"I'm fine," Gordon breathed.

Scott snorted. "Maybe that should be our family motto."

They heard sirens approaching, and a moment later, the ambulance backed as far as it could down the alley. Paramedics rushed onto the scene, and the brothers stepped back to give them room to work.

There was a flurry of activity, and just a couple minutes later, John was sitting next to Gordon's gurney in the back of an ambulance, listening to the dismal wail of the siren as they headed for the hospital.

He sighed, wishing he had something he could use to wipe some of the blood off his brother's pale face.

Gordon heard the sigh and opened his eyes. "You okay?" he asked softly.

John snorted. "Am _I_ okay? You're the one who just let himself get beaten almost to death!"

Gordon shrugged. "I figured it was a better alternative than you getting your throat slit." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Sorry I led us into a trap," he mumbled.

"It's not your fault, Gordon," John replied. "Those guys were just brutal. You couldn't have anticipated something like that."

For all the horrors in their job, they didn't often see brutality. Fear, yes. Anger, definitely. Selfishness, fairly often.

But sheer cruelty? It was jarring, and John was intensely grateful that they didn't come across people like that very often.

"Maybe next time we should just get pizza," John sighed.

Gordon smirked. "Now where's the fun in that? Don't let these guys get you down, Johnny! You've gotta get out there and _live_ , not go into hiding at the first hint of trouble!"

"My brother, the life coach," John said dryly. He shook his head fondly as he looked down at Gordon. Even on the way to the hospital, Gordon was still his normal ebullient self.

"I bet I would've made a good life coach," Gordon said. His eyes were drifting shut again. "Wake me up when we get there, okay?"

"Sure, Gords," John said. He watched his brother fall asleep, noticing that he still had a slight smile on his lips.

Well, if Gordon could still smile after the brutality he had endured, then John supposed he could smile too.


End file.
